CalArti

I’ve been remiss in posting snow crystal photos here, so here’s a quick roundup of some of the better shots so far from this winter.

I just prepped the raw file for this one today, so it is my current favorite:

The red filter came through more as a red spatter on that photo.

The aperture blades jammed on the trusty old Pentax M50 f4 macro lens that I use for these shots, and in the thick of shooting last week I switched over to an M50 f 2.0 - a lens considered to be relatively unremarkable. As you can see by the shot above, it holds its own regarding sharpness. (I have since found the adapter ring that is needed to use a Sigma 50mm EX macro on the setup, and will be using that in the future.)

I’ve made several changes to the technique for shooting these. First off, I’ve finally ditched my old Pentax *ist-D and started using the newer Pentax K7 for these shots. The drawback is that it does not suppport TTL autoflash. It’s not a big deal to shoot with manual flash with the histogram etc.

Here’s another recent shot:

I’ve been using a red and blue ‘filter’ (actually just the clear plastic covers from holidy LED bulbs) on the flash. In the photo above the two colors blended together to make a more or less purple tone. Here are a two examples of where the colors remained distinct:

Here’s an earlier shot where the colors melded nicely:

In this case, the snow crystal landed on its side. It was tiny, but I liked how it suggested a side view of a falling crystal - a little negative space on the top and there you go:

The snow has been uncooperative for most of this winter. It has snowed relatively little for Michigan - it all seems to be falling in the mid-Atlantic this winter. When it does fall it is often opaque and fluffy - I call it effervescent. The opaque parts look fluffy white when viewed in daylight, but come out dark when backlit:

And lastly - just a couple of garden variety snow crystals:

It it snows more I’ll try to take more photos, and if successful I’ll post them here.

Nothing in the world
is as soft and yielding as water.
Yet for dissolving the hard and inflexible,
nothing can surpass it.

The soft overcomes the hard;
the gentle overcomes the rigid.

– Tao Te Ching

Saturday, December 19, 2009. In the small hours of the morning snow falls gently to the ground. I wake up, watch, doze back off. The shiny black streets and sidewalks tell me that it’s too warm for snow crystal photos. Maybe later, maybe in the morning, maybe in dreamland.

In the morning a thin layer of crusty snow and ice rests atop automobiles and cold garage roofs. The gentle snow persists – why not try, just a few photos…

Here’s the best of a very brief excursion – and I like it. I think it is one of the best photos I’ve made all year, and I say that in December. And I like it because it is unlike anything I have ever seen before, or done before. It is a one drop oasis in the vast desert of sameness – and yep, my photos – so many of them – are right out there in the badlands. Sometime a drop of water is more refreshing than you expect.

A lightly different take on the photo can be found at the Story of Snow blog.

When I hold a camera in my hands I feel like I am in possession of key that can open up the wonders of the world. I feel all the more like that when there is something special, different, unusual and ephemeral about that key.

This summer I broke out a few of my last rolls of Kodak High Speed Infrared film. 35mm black and white film loaded into a glorious old Pentax LX – if ever there was a key capable of tumbling the barrels of the most obscure lock, this is it…

Oh well – not much to show for it. A stunted, shot up tree out standing in a scrubby field that I visit all too often.

To me the key might be an old camera loaded with expiring and extinct film. For others it might be the latest wonder digital camera and the uber-fabulous long lens. But in photography, keys are ever more available. And once you have that dream-bag full of keys, the real work begins: finding the locks…

October 1, 2009: Frost arrived overnight. Its white crystals settled down into the rough edges of the land – into the field and savannah, the hillsides and rock pikes, into every fold of every leaf. It was an early frost – weeks ahead of schedule – and much heavier than a first frost usually is. But then, it is October, the season when things change.

Frosty Leaves

I dawdled in the morning, ignoring the late rising sun. I stopped for coffee along the road, and let the moments of the morning slip through my fingers, unaware. Under the trees in the forest melting frost fell like a light, steady rain. By the time I got to the old farmstead the frost was nearly gone. I managed just a couple of shots before the air temperature rose past some imperceptible tipping point, and the frost suddenly disappeared – all of it, everywhere, all at once.

So much for the frost.

Frosty Leaves

But a good freeze changes things. It comes and goes, but leaves its mark behind. A glorious autumn day unfolded before me. Bright and still-warm sun in a deep azure sky warmed up the woods and fields around me, and I spent several hours knocking around the game area.

Bird hunters were everywhere, as you’d expect this time of year, but there were few gunshots.

Come October, I know that I won’t see any small dragonflies other than Autumn Meadowhawks. A few days earlier darners – common green and more exotic blue – could be seen dashing above the fields. Maybe it was the heavy frost – but even by mid afternoon, there were no darners to be found and only a handful of Meadowhawks stirred as I wandered through the fields.

When did the spring frosts stop? Was it long ago? It seems like yesterday, and here now the autumn frost curls up in the grass. Aside from a few holdouts, the dragons slumber underwater. Their nascent dreams, hardly formed, float like ghosts in cloudy dragon minds.

Autumn Meadowhawk

Sunday, September 20th, 2009. The equinox is just a couple days off, and another summer draws to a close.

The itinerate pond has receded sharply these last few weeks. I stand at its edge, on soft, muddy earth still head together by the dead roots of the grass that used to grow here. Waterfowl whirl around the pond – mallards, scaups, Canada geese. They glide by the bright foliage of inundated trees whose colors are more a sign of distress than of the changing season.

A garter snake wiggles away as I trudge along the water’s edge. Not the one that hung in the foliage last June – too small. But the same type of snake.

Autumn Meadowhawk

Autumn Meadowhawks are everywhere. The young ones are dull brown or dirty yellow, but some individuals have reached full maturity and have a bright red back and matching stigmata. They perch low to the ground – favoring the red leaves of fading, thorny strawberry plants, and dead coreopsis.

Autumn Meadowhawk

I have the best luck in the fields that were mowed last year, but the dragons congregate capriciously. Dozens converge on a small spot in a huge field that is otherwise empty. The spar with each other and jockey for perches, dance away from the thorny strawberry vines and snatch mosquitoes and flies out of the air.

Autumn Medowhawks, formerly known as Yellow Legged Meadowhawks… They seem to be the only dragonflies remaining; all of the others have already left. But with a little luck, they will be around for a while…

Autumn Meadowhawk

This is the time of year when squirrels start to run around with an air of frantic desperation. It’s hard to tell what has them so wound up – it’s still warm, the trees are mostly still green, and though the days be shorter the sun still shines in blue skies. Winter’s clouds, rain, and snow are a good ways away yet. However, I admit I feel a lot like the squirrels this time of year – wondering how long the summer weather will last.

Autumn Meadowhawk

And subtle changes have already taken place. This summer was not a great one for dragonflies, and around this time of year it seems that all but the Autumn Meadowhawks and Green Darners disappear. They are fine dragons and worthy of photographs, but diversity is gone. In June and July you can enjoy the challenge of finding Widow Skimmers, Calico Pennants, Spangled Skimmers, Dot Tailed Whitefaces, Ruby Meadowhawks and Halloween Skimmers. When you spy a bit of motion is an invitation to investigate and see what’s there…

Autumn Meadowhawk

That’s less so in mid to late September. Certainly not the case at all in October. And you’re lucky to find any dragonflies in November, in Michigan. That’s when the Autumn Meadowhawk, formerly called the Yellow Legged Meadowhawk, reigns.

Yesterday I toured the woods and forests of the Allegan Game Area, looking for dragonflies. Hours went by without a snap of the shutter – fields north of the river, by the ‘Silo’ off 44th street (it’s really a big sewer pipe propped up on its end), the tall tree savanna off 115th avenue – these and many other places hosted no dragons. It was only in late afternoon, at the end of a small two track that boarders the end of the refuge that I found dragonflies in abundance. Each and everyone one was an Autumn Meadowhawk – but I was glad for finding them.

Autumn Meadowhawk

Over the past few weeks I’ve been remarking on the little toads that seem to have popped up everywhere. After a little bit of web research, I’m pretty sure they are Fowler’s Toads. The individuals I’ve been seeing are all a bit small – most an inch or les sin size – but I assume that’s because ethey are just very young.

I’ve been seeing these creatures in the Allegan Game Area, and since they like woods and fields with sandy soil, that seems like a perfect habitat for them. During today’s visit I saw 5 individuals within a few moments of arriving at a sandy field. Here’s one shot:

Fowler’s Toad

Sunday. Walking back towards the car after wandering through he fields north of the Kalamazoo River, I look down at a small ribbon the ground, barely clear of the front of my boot. The intricate pattern on the speckled band is intriguing, and I wonder who left a snippet of a patterned shoe lace here.

And then the band suddenly moves – it’s a tiny Hognose snake, barely six inches long and lucky that my foot didn’t fall smack on it.

The little serpent proved to be an interesting photographic subject. Most of the hognose snakes I’ve seen have been brown with darker spots and a light yellow underside - like this one - but this individual is a gray tan with black spots. The snake was patient with me as I snapped a few portraits from different angles, and then I finally left it alone. It slowly made its way along the sandy soil, and was last seen sliding into a patch of thick ferns.

If it can avoid becoming a meal to some larger predator, it should have an ample supply of crickets and grasshoppers these next few weeks. Let’s hope it grows to be a formidable serpent - and I’ll hope to meet it again someday.

Sunday turned out to be a good day for herpetological subjects. After leaving the little Hognose Snake I made my way through several fields and finally down to the old farmstead. The mowed field was full of dragonflies, but they all dove low and clung to the stubble that prickled up from the sandy soil – not many opportunities for nice perching shots.

I made my way down to the pond. The water has receded a bit, though there is still open water at least 20 yards in from where the edge of the marsh used to be. Several frogs jumped into the pond as I bumbled down to the water’s edge, but looking down I noticed this green frog already in the water:

I have to admit that I paused for moment before laying down in the muck to get its photo. If you look closely you can spot a few mosquitoes on the frog’s head – though they are pretty much lost in this web-sized image.

After that I hiked back up to the north end of the cleared field. I tried to stay by the edge of the field, where there are still some patches of long grass, but ultimately I got no dragonfly shots. I guess the dragons are telling me to move on.

Anyhow, I did find another small tree frog or toad way up at the north end of the field. I’m seeing these guys all over the place this year. After a bit of digging, I’m reasonably certaint hat these are very small Fowler’s Toads - Bufo fowleri. They must be pretty young because they are typically described as being at least 2 inches long.

One thing about these guys – their camouflage is outstanding. Take your eyes off them for an instant and they are lost and gone.

Finally – one shot with a quarter in it for size reference. The little toad was quite accommodating.

Saturday morning. Though it is only late August, an autumnal chill has settled in on the land. My replacement K7 camera arrived earlier in the week, and I’m eager to get out.

Driving into the Allegan forest I see what looks like a hazy, light fog ahead. The clouds have thickened as I’ve headed west, from my house, into the game area. Driving north on 48th street, I look at the cloud of dust spiraling out behind the car and take that as a reassuring sign that while it may be cool, the rain is gone for now.

The car closes in on the mist and suddenly slams into a wall of water – a fine driving rain that splatters down heavily from the clouds above. Well, so much for signs. A mile down the road the rain passes and soon dust is billowing up behind the car again – and then again another micro downpour drenches the landscape.

I make my way a narrow two track to a small clearing, deep in the young forest. Here the grass has gown long and is dotted with patches of lupine and vetch. I spot one of the small toads I’ve been seeing this year, originally thinking it was a cricket hopping through the grass. But it manages to disappear before I get a shot. Wandering around in the tall grass I still up blue dasher, white faced meadowhawks, and several green darners – but they all settle back into the low grass some distance off, reluctant to fly around an perch in the cool damp day.

And then - another downpour. Here’s a snap of the road into the forest, just as the rain is starting to come down:

And one shot of an eastern tailed blue, the only decent macro shot of the day:

After an hour or so, I decided to call it quits for that day. The rain followed my home, and for the rest of the morning and the afternoon the mini downpours rolled though . Fortunately, Sunday was somewhat a better day for photos – more in my next post.

When I was a youngster my family lived on the edge of a hill. The land dropped off sharply at our property line, made a quick descent of 30 or 40 feet, and then flattened out again. A small drain ran along the bottom, and on the other side of this drain was the back of a shopping center and a small railroad switchyard. The side of the hill was overgrown with trees and brush. It was also littered with old tires, a junk washing machine, rusting barrels, and other rubbish. My family called that little strip of semi-wild land “The Gully.”

Cricket Frogs were common in The Gully. As children we’d find them regularly in the summer – so regularly that they became a pretty common-place feature of our world. Once or twice I tried to keep a cricket frog in a terrarium – it never worked out. But they were more or less taken for granted back then.

I don’t know when I last saw one.

I thought I saw one last week, but was wrong. I was in the Allegan Forest, by the edge of the New Pond. The water has been receding and now a few feet of mud boarders the pond. A very cooperative green frog has taken to sunning itself in one particular spot. I saw it there and knelt down into the muck to get a snapshot.

A bit of movement caught my eye, and I saw what I thought was a Blanchard’s Cricket Frog. The tiny amphibian was less than an inch long, and I had to get close with my insect macro rig to get a shot of it. Here’s a photo with an SD Memory card for scale:

I was pretty excited about possibly finding one of these now uncommon creatures. But once home I looked at the photo and realized that it was really just a really small toad. I didn’t know smalls could be so small – I guess this one metamorphosed from a really small tadpole.

Here’s a shot of the samll toad toad without the memory card:

Well – the experience brought back some nice memories. The last toad I saw – a few weeks ago – was about the size of a baseball. It did not seem to like the attention that I paid it, and slowly but surely dug itself down into the sandy soil. It just sank in, as if the earth was just water and it could float a bit lower if it wished. It was many time’s the size of this little creature.

Here’sthe green frog (shot the week before) that I was originally going after: